


jejune, zeitgeist, esoteric.

by aquajo



Category: Aquaman (2018), DC Extended Universe
Genre: "fight club", Multi, Pinocchio - Freeform, does anyone care about improper capitalization, fishboy?, it's all ocean dog, it's fishman., lighthouses and stuff., lmao how do i tag, maybe some golden retriever?, more ocean., ocean., pop culture references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 15:33:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17286722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquajo/pseuds/aquajo
Summary: some small imaginings within the small cinematic aquaman universe deftly created by james wan.same you, potentially non-interwoven plot lines.enjoy.





	jejune, zeitgeist, esoteric.

**Author's Note:**

> obligatory mention of first writings posted to the internet ever?

his thumb gingerly swept across the moleskine cover, eyes lingering on the gold foil embellishment that announced the year the planner was dedicated to. beyond him, about three yards out, the cacophony of you setting up your gear was slowly sinking below his threshold of consciousness. whatever was transcribed within the two covers took momentary presidence. he flipped to the first marked date, greeted with incoherent ideas instead of precise plans. scanning the remainder of january, arthur curry found that the chicken scratch lacked any intent. there were no doctor’s appointments or birthdays or whatever it was anyone did anymore. whatever you would do. head still downturned to your planner, his eyes flickered up in your general direction, casual curiosity etched across his features. “there’s nothing in here.” the planner snapped shut in his hand as he held it up for you to see. at that moment, a softbox light illuminated the shoreline the two of you occupied. 

“let there be light… and all that stuff.” you proudly put your hands on your hips to admire the studio equipment that was adorning your subject. “there’s plenty of stuff in there,” you added as an afterthought, trekking back to your phone. it was propped and stabilized on a tripod, which you slightly bent your knees to meet its line. 

“should i be worried about you? ‘all work and no play’?”

his speech was physically dynamic. arthur spoke fluidly, moving various parts of his anatomy to emphasize his points. sometimes he would dip his head in a little closer to the other participants of the conversation when he was being particularly condescending; sometimes he would put his hands on his hips in moments that would betray his seeming confidence; sometimes he would be animated to a point, using hand gestures that portrayed his descriptive words, usually an act of desperation to get people to flock to his perceived correctness. you’d been privy to the amalgam of all body language in the sahara as he both pacificed and insulted mera. there was a clear dichotomy between the little baby oceans he mentioned and the way he slapped mera’s navigator out of her grip.

in that way, he was the quintessential subject for all art. the vigor was captivating. “it’s not the writing of a mad person—” you heard an amused huff of air exit him, saw it captured in the camera framing “— they’re just ideas i had on those days. it’s like pre-production.”

“uh-huh.” arthur made underhand motions, signifying that he was prepared to toss it back to you. rising back to your full height, you stepped around the camera and opened your palms. the two of you had made the mistake of tossing each other things with a camera between you before. it was the reason you were unable to bring your dslr out to the shoot this night. neither of you could blame it on bad aim, for you both knew such thing did not ever exist within him.

“you can’t run-and-gun film. it’s all about planning,” you explained, watching the trajectory of your planner. the little brown book arched right into your hands, landing with a muted thump. “people that wing things and succeed are exceptions to the rule. it’s survivor’s bias.”

arthur jutted his chin out at the book you were shoving into your back pocket. “how many of those days are empty?” a light breeze swept between the two of you, the stray hairs from his bun tickling the exposed skin of his neck. thankfully, your gear was nestled into the wet sand enough to keep it from altogether falling, though it swayed enough to incite some fear into you. pulling the zipper of your windbreaker up further, you remained fixated on the movement of your equipment, leaving his question hanging as long as your anticipation of the worst remained.

“what are you saying?” you finally questioned, wanting him to get to the point. your finger hovered over the record button as you waited him to collect is thoughts enough to verbalize, starting the recording as he took the breath prior to his speech. 

“film is your passion, but even passion requires work. i saw january, okay? there wasn’t a day without at least one thing written there. i couldn’t imagine pursuing all of those ideas—”

“i don’t. some things remain stillborn.”

“but one idea is enough for you, is what i’m saying. the whole time you’ve been in amnesty bay, you’ve been going, going, going. your little crew isn’t even here working on this with you tonight.” he saw your eyes narrow, jaw clench. arthur instinctively used his hands to slowly unravel more words, a means of defusing any potential offense. “it’s okay to take a break. we go and save the world, and you’re back on the payroll not two days later.”

“it’s been longer than that,” you argue, eyeing the duration of the film session so far. arthur whistled and waved at you to get your attention, which you begrudgingly gave him.

“i mean, i’m not in atlantis right now, am i? i’m here. with you. doing this thing that i don’t really want to be doing, but i owe you one so…”

your face deadpanned. everyone liked some honesty, but leave it to arthur to confuse honesty and being kind-of-an-asshole. “if you’d read pinocchio, you’d know how it teaches people to be proactive in their lives, how everyone regardless of their circumstance is bound to serve themselves by working. it teaches you that being lazy and cutting corners is ultimately more work.”

“that’s the lesson you’re going to take from a wooden puppet?” arthur raised his eyebrows, feeling the ocean water spray up his side as it hit his foot. “well, i’m not. strictly hiding in whale mouths. that’s all i bargained for when i saw the movie.” upon seeing you roll your eyes, he continued. “all i’m saying is that sometimes time is worth wasting, which i know sounds counterintuitive, but see it through the lens of art. you can’t summon me up from the ocean this late at night to force some artsy shots into whatever you’re working on. a lot of artful things happen without them meaning to. maybe there’s some art in coincidence or natural occurrence or whatever.” hearing little retaliation, arthur finally concluded: “and you’re not summoning me up from the ocean this late at night without getting me a couple drinks, so let’s ditch the camera and go out.”  
you nestled your hands in the pocket of your windbreaker, scrutinizing his words yet again from the lens of the camera. your previous attention on him had been short lived. “okay,” you conceded finally. your eyes lifted from the recording in time to actually see arthur erupt with an excited alright. warmth flooded your chest, filtering between the gaps in your ribs, making them feel full. your frame became concrete, heavy. the weight was surprisingly secure, though, grounding you in a way you had long forgotten. arthur made the gap between the two of you seem insignificant, around the tripod in a few steps, tossing his arm around you and pulling you into his side, ruffling your hair a bit and kissing the area he disturbed. 

“i hope you wallet can keep up with me,” he slyly said as he watched you begin to pack everything up. when you turned to look back at him to dispute his words, he shrugged. “i don’t have any money.”

“maybe you’re lucky i work so hard then,” you muttered as he beamed at you.


End file.
